


Cut and Paste

by HandMonsters



Category: The Evil Within 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Art, Blood, F/M, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Loss, Mutilation, Philistines, Public Nudity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandMonsters/pseuds/HandMonsters
Summary: You'd taken your profession to new heights - or at least a new world...finding yourself a part of 'Union', a false reality where you could live you could live your dreams.Yet a chance encounter with a smooth talking photographer leaves you in a dangerous position as the world starts to fall apart at the seams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [electricprerogative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricprerogative/gifts).



> Here it is! The long awaited Stefano story...this chapter is really small but it's to introduce the reader into Union - and give me time to finish plotting the rest of the story!
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Okay, we’ll start with some basic questions to fill in the blanks before we do the psychological examination. So, Miss (Y/LN). Do you have any family?”

Their faces said it all: the disappointment on your mothers, the rage on your fathers as he snatched the paper from between your fingers. You hadn’t responded, restraining your temper as the paper was shoved in front of your face. He yelled and yelled and yelled, on and on and on - and it was getting on your nerves. You saw nothing wrong with what you’d done, but to them, it was like they'd birthed a monster. 

"I left home when I was young. We haven't spoken since."

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I suppose it’ll be easier for you to go in then without having them worry…right then, anyway, moving on. Your current occupation and any past full-time work you’ve done?”

At least you had the job you wanted. Sure it wasn’t on some big stage but with the help of numerous…friends, you were able find work in smaller venues. And it paid, but not nearly enough to fund your lavish lifestyle, desperate to keep some connection to your past, the part you enjoyed…it was all you had left really… 

"I'm a freelance vocalist - I ah, sing. I used to be a waitress too part time but my singing career took off so I've been able to support myself with that alone."

“It seems you’re quite successful then,a singer too, you’ll make a wonderful addition to our community. Now then, are you prone to outbursts of negative emotion: anger, jealousy, anything like that?” 

Your chest heaved as you hung your head, water dripping from your nose. You needed to calm down, you told yourself, but your arms ached, wanted to hit anything within reach, a fire burning deep inside your chest. A dull ache piercing your skull from where you'd thrown yourself into the wall. The bathroom door swinging open and startling you. Head turned to see who’d entered, passing them a weak smile as they went about their business. Pull yourself together, you told yourself. It wouldn’t be long until you could go home and vent your anger in a controlled environment…

"Not at all."

“Ah, no issues there either. Perfect, well, we’ve finished your basic questions, now we just need to a run a couple more tests then you’re all fit to go. But, if everything carries on the way it seems to be going, it’s safe to safe you’re already very welcome in Union, Miss (Y/N).”

“Thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz wouldn’t have been your choice of music for a wedding personally, but the upbeat swing of things worked wonders. You enjoyed it at least, and it made for a change of pace. It paid well too…although you were sure you were prettier than the bride. _Oops_ …when all the singing was done, and you were ushered off stage, you'd stayed to mingle a bit. You'd spoken to the band that had supported you as well as the bride and groom…then you slunk to the bar, retreating to the background as you watched the people go about their business. The wedding wasn’t being held anywhere fancy, just the hotel, but everything about it reminded you of home. The grandeur of the whole event. Letting out a sigh you took a sip of your champagne, sighing into the glass as you tightened your grip around the stem. You would have loved to have stayed longer, soak in the atmosphere…but the problem was…flinching you felt your body tense up as a child’s scream tore through your ears. He just wouldn’t shut up. He just kept crying, and crying and crying and - taking in a deep breath you held your composure, glass placed gently back on the table. If you didn’t leave you’d smash the thing over the kid’s head. Smash it over his head so he shut up - his mother’s desperate, _‘quiet and calm’_ attempts at doing it herself only irritating you further. Heading over to the bride you apologised for interrupting, her head shaking as she faced you with a smile.

“Don’t worry about it, do you need to get off now?” She asked.

“I’m afraid so…thank you for having me, and I wish you both the best of luck.” Bidding goodbye you made your way back through the crowd. The crowd continuing outside as you left, unable to stop yourself from honing in on a conversation, stopping to adjust your heels temporarily. 

“I’m telling you it was terrible!” Paranoia had already set in as you listened on, rummaging in your bag and taking out your phone to ‘message someone’.

“I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder…” one man mused, the other in hysterics.

“No - like - really, bad…it’s all blood and gore and oh god, sure I've seen some abstract art but it's just sick…” he blurted out, looking over at you and waving.

“Hey lady, have you seen the new gallery at the theatre?” 

“No I haven’t.” So they weren’t on about your singing. Good.

“Well I suggest you avoid it. How someone can see that as art I don’t know.” You nod slowly as his attention turned back to his friend. Still irritated you decided to be on your way, putting away your phone and heading down the street. You stuck out like a sore thumb too, dressed for a wedding not a stroll down the road. The passing glances annoying you to no end as you began to feel the insecurity setting in. Who the hell was outside this late anyway? You wanted to get inside. Needed to get inside or you’d snap. Your house wasn’t too far from the hotel thankfully and…on the way…you came to a halt outside the theatre, looking through the gates curiously. Curiosity driving you in. Surely this art couldn’t be that bad? And…criticising it might burn off some steam. Give you a chance to distract yourself. 

“Stupid brat…” you breathed, entering the theatre. It wouldn’t be long before they closed but hey, it was quiet. Oh so…quiet. Almost in a daydream as you strode across the red carpet in your best clothes. The last evening show was playing in another room, the laughter carrying through the halls as you waved at the man at the bar. It wasn't until you made it to a flight of stairs tha you hesitated, eyes falling on the first image that lined the wall…a headless model sat with a pair of scissors in her hands. Bloodied as they hung, dripping crimson liquid that ran down the silver blades. Her delicate cerulean dress contrasted the bouquet of brilliantly red roses sprouting from her neck like a vase. Definitely what the men had been speaking about. You continued up the stairs, reaching the top and sitting before the largest, and most extravagant piece. Marvelling at it you struggled to take in all the features at once, eyes darting this way and that. A beautiful woman. Another beautiful, headless woman. She was posed in a way that made it seem like she was falling, or flying: it depended on how you looked at it, the white dress pluming from her waist like a flower giving her the guise of an angel. She held her face, a mask with hollow eyes and a smile, not of happiness no, some sort of contorted expression, twisted and bent to something that resembled fear and bliss. She too, had a bouquet, but this one erupted from her neck like blood, the red petals capturing the light perfectly as they flew through the air. Only distracted as you heard the click of a heel, turning to see a stranger approching you. Your gaze was soon cast back to the picture as he stopped to admire the same one as you, arms folded across his chest as if he was in deep thought. Lost in your thoughts as you realised...you'd calmed in the short time you'd spent admiring the artwork...the graphic content acting as a surrogate to everything you'd wanted to do…it wasn’t until he’d arrived you’d noticed it though, not wanting to tear his head off, and now you just felt awkward…

“She’s beautiful don’t you think?” The man asked, his rich accent capturing your attention this time.

“Yes she is. I’m no artist but everything about it seems so…alluring, captivating if you want.” The man turned with a look of surprise in his eye, a smile forming on his lips.

“And here I was thinking you were just another philistine come to criticise my work.” He purred as you blinked idly at him. _His_ …work?

“Your work - wow - well!” You exclaimed in as much surprise as him, back straight as you found yourself smiling. “You have real talent Mr - uh…” 

“Stefano Valentini.” You shook his gloved hand breifly, the artist perching beside you.

“(Y/N) (Y/LN). It’s a pleasure to meet you…” 

“It is indeed - now Miss (Y/LN), would you care to tell me why you’re dressed as stunning as you are – surely it wasn’t just for me?”

~

You spoke for some time with Stefano. About his artwork mainly, pointing him towards your favourite of the girl with scissors. He said he liked that one too, that he did lots with that model. You asked him how he got the effects, how he managed to make it look like the girl had roses instead of a head, and he bluntly dismissed the notion of editing after the photo, saying that was ridiculous, but that he should also have his secrets…so you put it down to FX. Amazing FX. Or mirrors or something. Unfortunately your meeting had to come to an end, hearing the people leaving the theatre as the show finished, ushered out as it closed alongside them.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure Miss (Y/N).” Stefano soothed, holding the gate open for you. Stopping in the street you smiled pleasantly at him, the artist clicking his fingers together as a sparkle lit up is eyes.

“If you’re free tomorrow I would love to speak some more with you, if you don't mind of course?” He chirped, smile captivating you.

“Yes…of course, I'm not schedualed to do any work tomorrow.”

“Perfect!” He exclaimed. “Meet me here at twelve. I look forward to it.”

With that you went your separate ways, an odd sense of calmness surrounding you. He seemed nice. Eccentric but then again, weren’t most artists? And his artwork – it…worked miracles, you jested silently, knowing you were no longer as wound up as you had been previously. Maybe it was the blood, the graphic depictions of women with their heads cut off. It stopped the feeling. And that calmness, it lingered, following you home where you took to picking out an outfit for the next day. It wasn’t anything too fancy. Nothing that would draw too much attention to you, but you still wanted to look good naturally…chuckling to yourself at the thought of having dinner with a photographer, but meeting him like you said you would. The near stranger complimenting you on your outfit as you approached, quite handsome himself in the sharp black suit he was wearing.

“Do you have plans for us then?” You chirped as he offered you his arm. 

“I was thinking a stroll perhaps? Coffee? What could I do to please a woman of such fine taste?” He mused as you took his arm. Setting off together as you smiled at his remark.

“Oh I think you’ll find you’re already doing an excellent job Mr. Valentini…” you soothed.

“I’m glad, but please, call me Stefano, there’s no need for formalities.” You’re stroll was a nice one, chatting away merrily with Stefano as he asked you about your job, finding that you had a lot in common it seemed. Both of you were artists in your own right, expect he used a camera and you used your voice. Finally stopping at a small café for that coffee, outside in the beautiful sunlight Union always seemed to have. Not too hot, not too cold, but perfect. Gazing off into the distance, only brought back to reality as your coffee was brought over. Both of you thanking the waitress before she left, Stefano tilting his head as he eyed your curiously.

“(Y/N) have you ever considered the possibility of being a model?” You chuckled at this, offering the photographer a polite smile. 

“As much as I would love to be a model Stefano, I have a bad history with photographers…it’s safe to say I don’t trust them – not that I mean to offend you of course.” 

“No offense taken, in fact, I’m curious. What could a photographer have possibly done to make you so wary of us?” You didn’t particularly want to talk about it. It certainly wasn’t something you spoke about to someone you’d just met over coffee but…it was your fault for bringing it up when you could have easily have lied.

“Ah, simply put, when I was younger and first started singing professionally I was quite popular. I was hoping I could produce my own music one day but – the man who was helping me get off my feet and perform was also my lover. We kept it quiet and naturally it got out. A photographer had um…caught us in a slightly more intimate moment so to speak and sold it to a journalist, who then in turn blew up my career...he suggested I’d been sleeping with him to get the jobs I had...they weren’t entirely wrong since he was supporting me, but it wasn’t like that was the only reason…sorry, I’m rambling, as you can see I’m not quite the woman of fine taste you say I am.” You explained, playing with the handle on your cup, Stefano waving a hand dismissively.

“Nonsense (Y/N). I like you ever more, you're an honest woman.” He declared sternly. “Lover or not, you were following your passions. I’ve done some unsavoury things in my time to get to where I am now and I don’t regret a single thing.” You thanked him. The photographer continuing back to his main point.

“Your mistrust in photographers is understandable but rest assured you can trust me (Y/N). Work as a model for me (Y/N), you don’t have to answer now, but I’ll give you my number, you can get in touch with me when you feel you’ve overcome your fear and I’ll turn you into something more beautiful than you already are.” It was a tempting offer, taking his number gratefully and informing him you’d get back to him soon. Coffee finished and tip left, you parted ways once more. Sat on the edge of your bed as you gazed out your window, toying with the thought of working as a model on the side of your own career…but, it was late and you had work in the morning – leaving the decision to another day when you weren’t fretting about your next performance. A faint blush taking your cheeks as you ran a hand through your hair. You wouldn’t have minded seeing Stefano again regardless of whether you were modelling for him or not, you thought with a sigh…the same thought crossing your mind as you stood before the cheering crowd. No annoying kids, no unwelcome looks. No after-work trips to the art gallery…you had other things on your mind. A few texts later you weren’t heading home, but you were walking to the same café you’d occupied previously with Stefano…the photographer already waiting for you – not a chance meeting like the last time.

“Ah, ciao (Y/N),” he soothed, “come, take a seat – rest your legs…tell me how you are.” 

“Alive and well,” you chirped, “how have you been since our last meeting?” 

“Excellent.” He declared boldly. “I’m grateful you’d offer to meet with me again, I take it you’ve considered my own preposition.” 

“I have.” You said simply. “I’ve decided I’d love to work as one of your models.”

It was such a simple statement…the photographer telling you he’d get in touch with you when he was ready to use you in his art…but…that was easier said than done…

It was one minute past three in the afternoon. It had been a normal day, you’d been at work when…a piercing noise rang from the microphone – the band stopping as the earth shook beneath…everything coming to a halt as everybody in the bar stared at each other in horror. The mini earthquake passing soon enough, shrugged off as possible maintenance of Union…the unrest lingering despite these reassuring lies. There had never been an earthquake before – there was barely any bad weather let alone an earthquake because everything was under control.

At four thirty two you’d gone outside to tend to your garden. At four thirty two you’d gone outside to tend to your garden. For a second time…but at the same time – a sense of dread hung over you as you watered the roses again. Certain you’d already done them as you tried to shake your sense of déjà vu…the sky already beginning to darken so early…

You’d been eating tea at three minutes past six when there was another earthquake, larger this time. Scaring you…the crack of lighting outside making you yelp as your gaze snapped to the window. Faint traces of rain blurring the outside world as you watched on in confusion…unable to recall the last time it’d rained in Union. Finishing up with your tea and finding your phone, making a call to the enquiry office to make sure everything was okay before trying to call Stefano…it had been awhile since you’d last spoken in all honesty: you’d agreed to be his model, you’d spent plenty of time together, you’d taken a few photos…nothing over the top like his usual artwork, he just wanted to get a feel for you – and he did, feeling your cheeks burn as you remembered how he’d complimented you...the last time you’d seen him being the morning after but…it seemed he was busy. 

Not that you were thinking about him in the hours to come. You'd ran out the house, the rain hurtling down like bullets as you dodged the cracks in the concrete, desperately trying to stay upright as you stood beside your neighbours...the earthquakes having returned, stronger than ever as you watched in horror as the theatre you’d grown to frequent, a whole section of Union, just rose into the sky – like it was folding in on itself as the earth ripped in two. Terrified cries coming from around you as people desperately tried to call the enquiry centre, some fleeing inside whilst others like yourself just watched as the world began to fall apart.

The horror only just beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

What had become a hell to so many was now a creative paradise for him – the entire world a canvas – a model for him to bend and break and create and create and perfect his art! The citizens that once ridiculed him now his unwilling models to be turned from something crass and…disgusting – to something beautiful that even they themselves would have admired. Even as philistines. He hadn’t forgotten of course…about her, the only woman who smiled at his work – not so much now but, that was to be understandable. He needed her fear to be perfect before she could fulfil her end of the bargain…

And she would join him as an artist on the grand stage he would create: reborn.

~

In one short day the world had been torn apart, the fear that many of the citizens had felt slowly replaced with a disease, rendering them incapable of any emotion but anger. Rage, spite, an animalistic desire to tear apart anything that dared cross their path…it became a living hell, those not ‘infected’ prey for the mutated carcasses of your former neighbours. 

Stuck in the simulated world with no hope other than that maybe someone on the outside would pull the plug. 

You’d hauled yourself up in your house to begin with, food supplies running low when you’d found what seemed like a loophole in the simulation. A loophole you learnt to exploit. The first time you’d slipped between the two different ‘realities’ the third most terrifying experience you’d had in Union…you’d dragged yourself from your windows, checking for any sign of danger before slinking back into the safety of your room, curtains closed with your bed pushed up flat against it so if anything happened to fall through your window it wouldn’t be able to make it through. That was the plan at least. Food in your room, you’d sat down to eat…coffee to hand, not that you needed the kick, the near constant adrenaline rush bad enough…humming a tune to yourself to calm yourself down when a sudden crash in the bathroom had caught your attention. Tune cut short as you yelped, covering your mouth with one hand as the other flew to the knife beside you. You were too scared to move as you sat, frozen in silence: another loud crash forcing you into action. Legs shaking, you rose from your seat. Able to feel every muscle in your body contract and relax with each robotic movement, whatever it was in your house needed to go or you would. Your mind reeling as you tried to work out how something could have possibly gotten into the bathroom. If, it was the bathroom, but the sound of shattering glass had definitely come from that direction: the only glass in that room the mirror, no windows…meaning whatever it was had to have gotten in through another room. Guard up, you anxiously made your way to the bathroom, able to hear what sounded like...moaning – chocked but pleasured moaning in short grunts. Breath held as you lift the knife ready, fingers grazing the handle as you slowly pushed it down. Silently pushing open the door and peering behind the wooden frame. Yet, there was nothing there…literally nothing…just darkness, curiosity overriding fear as you thought maybe, you could get out of Union. The journey into it similar in that it’d been in total darkness…stepping forwards hopefully as you clutched your knife tight. The door closing behind you with a light ‘click’ – startling you as you turned around to see it’d vanished.   
When you turned back around though, you were no longer in the dark, but a grand hallway, the likes you’d only see in a castle, except the polished wooden flooring and deep Tyrian purple walls gave the dim hall more of a vintage, than a royal feeling…empty picture frames hanging from the walls as you walked forwards…a single door at the end you were heading for, on edge but also at ease…unaware of how those empty picture frames filled themselves with graphic images as you passed. Eyes, watching you from their bloody sockets, models before you watching you walk to your podium – your stage, your fate…not that you would have known…not that you were ready. You reached the door when you heard a sort of metallic creaking, like strained wires were being pulled against one another…glancing over your shoulder timidly as you soon heard the same grunting moan from your bathroom – slipping through the door without a second thought as a contorted shadow fell into the hall. Heart racing, you listened, senses strained for any sign of danger when your gaze fell upon the red velvet curtains that hung in the centre of the room.   
The room was a stark white, marble, a direct contrast to the dim hallway…leaving the door, you walked forwards, approaching the curtains uncertainly…they covered something, something you weren’t sure you wanted to see, the circular display hidden. Although, as you approached, the curtains seemed to move, stepping back as you lift the knife: the curtains moving around their pedestal. Nothing there, except for a plaque on a small marble stand that stood to about your waist…the golden plate bearing an inscription. One that scared you more than the thought of being eaten alive:

‘(Y/N) (Y/LN)’.

That was all it read, the stand behind it…where you were meant to go…uncertainly drifting your fingers across the engraving – something slamming against the door as you screamed out loud – covering your mouth as you fell against the plaque. Not wasting any more time as you circled to the back of the room, finding another door and bowling through it to find yourself at the bar…where there was food…whatever you’d done dangerous but…if the portal could transport you about – you preferred it to walking through streets infested with things that wanted to kill you, as opposed to a single thing you hadn’t actually seen. That had been the first time though…then there was the second, and third – each journey getting just a bit longer as the picture frames started to fill with images of people, statues of the creatures that hunted you in the streets…the grandeur was one thing but…the grotesque imagery…it reminded you of Stefano, but you had no time to admire his work, nor did you think he was alive anymore. Whenever you were inside that little world though, you heard that thing, that creaking, moaning thing…having never actually seen in, only shadows – an occasional blur. Not that you were going to chase it down. You’d survived your fourth trip and your fifth when things started to get…unnerving. You’d seen dead bodies. Real, dead bodies since the world fell apart, but to be stood, staring at one as it was murdered, over and over and over again…it was almost hypnotising in a fashion. Watching, as the laceration spread from one side of the guards waist, up to his shoulder, the wound spraying blood into the air as he fell back in slow motion – the blood suspended in the air before being sucked back inside him: the wound never there. A translucent, jelly like box surrounding him…too scared to touch it as you watched the display…a real life model…remembering Stefano’s models - the women that modelled for him, wondering if he’d…killed them too…a shiver running down your spine as you went on your way.

You were on your sixth trip now.

There was no describing the pure fear you felt as you ran for your life through the seemingly endless halls…your screams for help merging with the sound of music, classical music, that lingered in the background – coming from every room like your torture was nothing more than entertainment. Knowing, that nobody would come to save you as you crashed into a door into another long hallway – the room split into two with a gaping hole between the floor boards, no time to think as you powered on. The moaning and grunting close behind – the heavy footsteps of the gruesome creature that stalked you and the strained sound of the barbed wire that held together its flesh only adding to the terror. Not that you’d seen it completely…just a leg as it’d been walking around the corner…and another, the naked torso struggling to hold what looked like a camera – an old fashioned camera that hung limp from the creature’s neck…and that had been all you saw as you’d taken flight. Now you were racing up a flight of stairs, barely slowing even as you saw the massive statue that stood in the centre of the hall you’d entered: some woman, bodies hung beneath her, a flower – you didn’t care, slamming the button on the nearby elevator and waiting. Impatiently as you screamed at it, bashing the button again and again and again.

“Come on – open goddamnit!” You cried – tears welling in your eyes as you heard the moaning from the monster. It’d slowed…but it was close…coming closer as you fell silent. Looking over your shoulder in fear as you waited to either meet your grizzly demise, or flee…its shadow darkening the light as you heard the ding. Almost falling into the elevator but not safe yet – tapping the button to go down, anywhere but where you were – the grunts almost excited as it heard your panicked display. A shrill cry tearing through its throat as it appeared in view, the doors slowly closing as it ran towards you – the camera lens hypnotising you as you fell back against the elevator wall, crumpling into a pile on the floor as the doors closed. A yelp escaping your lips as whatever it was hit them hard, denting the metal but…with a gentle whir, you were moving…somewhere…tears streaming down your cheeks as you let the tears flow. Sobs wracking your sides. It was stupid of you to try and get through again – for food, water – you’d known it was dangerous but whatever the hell that thing was, was far worse than anything else you’d ever come across outside. An anger bubbling up within your belly as you cried. You shouldn’t have been crying. It was your fault for being so stupid – your fault so you’d deal with the consequences…rising on unsteady legs and slamming a fist into the wall as you tried to stop yourself from crying. All your frustration soon taken out on the same wall as you threw yourself at it, kicking and screaming and punching but still crying…ever as you staggered out of the elevator. At a loss with yourself: what was the point of even trying to get food if eventually it would run out…the food would run out and you’d starve – what did you do then, sit in your room and hope to die? You hadn’t found any way of getting out of the simulation yet and it seemed like there was no way to either – the administrators didn’t care about you. Nobody in the outside cared and nobody cared about you on the inside either. It was just some futile attempt to survive…running a hand through your hair as you took in a deep breath. Not the calm and collected woman you were before…not that you’d been that anyway but now – you needed to get a hold of yourself. You had to. You were surviving in the hopes that you’d get pulled out. In the hopes that you’d find a way out…recognising the room you were in…the hallway rather. With its polished wooden flooring and deep Tyrian purple walls – the dim lighting almost welcoming since you knew where you were. You knew there was a way out. Even if you were unsettled by the picture frames as you passed, heading towards the door at the end. It was almost like you were being watched by the eyes in their bloody sockets, the models watching you walk towards your podium – your stage, your fate…not that you would have known it was the fate that awaited you to be like them. Not knowing that you’d been chased there, led there and lured now that you were ready…  
The hope you felt only growing as you threw open the door to see somebody you knew all too well, stood by your stage as he once stood by your side as you admired his art.

“Stefano!” You cried, hesitating for a second as the door closed behind you, but as he turned…you saw he looked completely normal. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t one of them and you knew he wasn’t.

“(Y/N)!” He exclaimed, arms opening in welcoming gesture as he beamed at you. Not a care in the world as you felt yourself smile.

“Stefano what are you doing here? Where have you been – are you okay?” As you approached each other he gave you a confident smile, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh (Y/N) so many questions so little time…” he soothed, “I’m perfectly alright as you can see.” You were so happy to see him, somebody you knew, throwing yourself at the photographer as he took you in an embrace, gently stroking your hair.

“Stefano you have no idea how happy I am to see you! I can’t believe you’re still alive – I thought you were dead!” 

“No, no, no (Y/N)…I’m alive, and so are you, thanks to my wonderful help.” You lent back, confusion written all over your face as the artist went on to explain. “You see (Y/N) – this world, these halls, this art – all of it is mine!” He’d freed you from his arms as he’d extended them in a dramatic display…just as confused as you stepped back hesitantly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said (Y/N), where we are now, this is my realm, my own Union for art – you see, I’ve acquired powers one could only dream of, powers that have allowed me to extend my creative hold and use models in a way I thought were never possible!” He sounded crazy but, you didn’t leave. You didn’t run. You stayed.

“So this place…” the art you thought, a shiver running down your spine as you pictured the bodies, “is yours? You made this place?” He nod.

“See…you get it (Y/N)…” he purred, “you’ve already met my beautiful Obscura correct?” 

“Obscura?” You froze, the monster – the monster in the halls. Stefano nodding with a smirk as he folded his arms, approaching you as you remained frozen.

“Indeed.” He said simply as you wracked your brain for ideas…scared but it seemed…if Stefano could make his own world then maybe it was possible…to escape.

“Stefano…could you get us both out of this world? Out of the machine they put us in?” He stopped. The cackle that echoed throughout the room only destroying any hope you’d felt as he took your chin.

“Why would I want to do that (Y/N)? This is my world, I can create here, there are no philistines, there is only art – there is no need for you to fear what is outside this world any longer either (Y/N). You’re my model, my art…not yet perfect, but the fear – the fear you will instil in others – it will be wonderful.” You shook your head, Stefano letting you go as you stepped backwards towards the door. Unable to hear what was beyond it as you fumbled for the handle behind you…

“I don’t want to be your model anymore Stefano – I just want to live – I don’t want to be here anymore…” you whimpered, Stefano making a ‘tch-ing’ sound between his teeth as he shook his head.

“But (Y/N), there’s no backing out of our agreement…besides, you will live – you will live and you will be able to persue the happiness you sought too – audiences (Y/N) – I could give you audiences for you to sing too…surely an artist like you would understand how tempting it is to be able to have everything you’ve ever wanted – everything you’ve ever needed at your fingertips.” You didn’t want to believe it, that after you’d found him – Stefano, somebody who might have cared, migh have made life more bearable…wanted to turn into one of those half dead models, dying…over and over and over again, the gentle ‘click’ of the door coming with another familiar sound…grunting, moaning…a scream tearing through your throat as you spun around to see the so called ‘Obscura’. The pain you felt in the next second almost too much to bear – but nothing you could describe…your head hitting the floor hard and knocking you out. The sting from the wounds on your shoulder all that remained once you woke, a dull ache and a nauseous feeling in your stomach as you lay on the table. A blinding light above you as you thought you might have been dead – or, have escaped, going to rise from your terminal when the restraints…kept you down. About to cry for help when you heard something, a door perhaps, Stefano’s voice accompanying it.

“Ah (Y/N)…you’re awake I see, just in time.” Just in time?

“For what?” Your voice was meek, nothing like you’d tried to express as the artist hung over you, a black apron over his shirt as he rolled up his sleeves…the flashy suit abandoned as he wheeled a silver tray towards you.

“To become art (Y/N). I wanted your opinion before we began that’s all.” He hummed sweetly, crouching down to retrieve a pair of shears from the tools on the tray…tears welling in your eyes once more but this time you weren’t angry at yourself. You were scared. More scared than when the world had been torn apart, or when the people started turning into monsters or any of the monsters themselves…the most terrifying thing you’d seen, knew…was him. 

“You liked the picture of the girl who’d cut her head off with scissors right (Y/N)?” He mused, modelling the shears for you. “Will these suffice?” 

What happened next could only be described in one word: hell. 

You blacked out at some point thankfully…but the pain – the agony…the feeling of your flesh being serrated, not by the shears, but a scalpel as a searing white hot pain followed the blades every movement, a bloody trail carved into your flesh. You weren’t going to lose your head. Nor were you going to die. He was honest when he said you’d live. But to what extent you could be called alive was debatable…in too much pain to walk when you awoke. The artist having given you a new pair of legs for kicks…the stitches, not really stitches but barbed wire. Staples holding together wide gashes in your legs that no longer bled. Some kind of black magic still allowing your body to function…every breath agony with the roses that pierced your chest – forming a ‘V’ from your shoulder blades down to the centre of your breasts and yet…that wasn’t even the worst part. Your arms…the only part you’d mastered moving as the blades of the shears cut against each other…wincing as you felt them move…embedded in your arms. Deep into the flesh, barbed wire keeping them trapped within your skin, the handles forcing the bones in your arm apart…the unnerving sensation not painful but…to feel to flesh move…your hands replaced with shears. You weren’t a work of art you were a monster too. You were just a monster on a stage with an audience, where you would sing to your creator and his captives. One last performance they would witness before they too, became art. Not as lucky as you to be alive...  
He had everything he wanted. He had made his world, he had the power to create with infinite resources at his disposal. He had everything and yet he was lacking something. His response that of joy – a sense of proudness within as he clapped furiously at her performance…realising as she tried to stop herself from falling in tears…that she…was what he needed. He’d known all along but she’d never been perfect. Not until now.  
It was cold. You hurt. You always hurt. Staring at your ankles as you sat on the edge of your pedestal…the heels you’d been forced to wear having rubbed all day…it was such a small, annoying pain that you were surprised you could feel it, compared to the pain you felt in your arms or legs. Then again, you’d chosen to wander the streets in search of some way out but…no matter how high or low you checked there was nothing. Back arched, you lent down, the blades of the shears clumsily pressed against your leg as you tried not to cut yourself. The tip of the shears hooked between your ankle and your heel. You were a good little model. You sang…even when you didn’t want to. You ate and you drank and washed…although – removing the blade from your heel you gave up, the straps too tight around your ankles and feet to slide them off, not without ruining them and you didn’t want to do that. It’d probably only cause you more pain, you mused, recalling when you’d tried to remove the roses from your chest…the thorns snagging on your insides – a shiver running down your spine. That didn’t change the fact that you were cold though, staring down at your naked torso…shifting uncomfortably in your pants as you glanced at the velvety curtains surrounding you. With a grunt, you pushed yourself up, metal clanging against marble as you did. Gingerly stroking the fabric with your blades, you attempted to catch it between the giant scissors only for it to slide between them…leaving you frustrated as you crouched down, scooping the curtains up in your arms and trying to drape yourself in it to no avail. The click of heels catching your attention, alerting you to his presence before he’d even spoken.

“La mia bellissima cantaurice!” He exclaimed, startling you as you dropped the curtains, an eyebrow raised in your direction.

“Hello Stefano…” was all you could muster as he approached you, your lack of clothes something you’d grown accustomed too around others. Obscura no better than you the poor thing…you could have sounded like her too.

“What are you doing, may I ask?” 

“I was cold. I just wanted to see if I could wear it.” He smiled.

“My…your hands (Y/N)…surely you could not just, cut, yourself a blanket? That being said…do you not like your body – the centre piece of your beauty?” Your gaze fell everywhere but on him.

“It’s not that.” You muttered, flinching as he reached for what would have been your hands, lifting the blades and inspecting them with a smile…placing them so close to his neck and yet you didn’t dare try to cut it off.

“You were just cold?” He mused and you nod. 

“Yes.” He took the other ‘hand’, the action confusing you as you watched him in confusion and fear…the artist resting his palms against your blades. 

“You know (Y/N),” he began, “you’re the only person who understands me as an artist (Y/N)…and I understand you. That’s why you’re alive. Obscura is alive but she doesn’t have a mind, I turned her from a critic into a work of art and she is beautiful but…you are perfect (Y/N).” He sighed as you failed to meet his eye.

“Don’t look so sad (Y/N)...” he soothed, your heart racing as he rest one pair of shears against his shoulders, that same hand that’d just been holding them gently stroking your cheek as fear registered finally on your expression, “see…that’s better…you know, we’re perfect for each other (Y/N). Ever since the day I met you I knew we’d always end up like this…I miss you (Y/N), the ‘us’ before except now, we could be so much more. Share my bed. Sing for me and I’ll give you the warmth you so seek.” The emotions you felt weren’t the same the first time you’d kissed him…the time he’d stayed the night – the butterflies in your stomach more a sickening, writhing mass in your stomach rather than a fuzzy, light feeling.

Frozen like the statue you were meant to be: his lips having met yours. The artist taking your waist with the confidence of a God…forced to keep your shears so painfully close to his neck as you closed your eyes. The sweet moan that rumbled in his throat as he lingered on your lips making you want to throw up. Stefano leaning back as he eyed you like a predator would eye its prey. 

“Be mine (Y/N).” He said it like you had a choice as his lips met yours once more, feeling your eyes well as his tongue grazed yours. The taste of blood filling your mouth as you struggled to breathe…

Death was one way out. A way you’d wished you chosen beneath Stefano as he took advantage of your body, desperate to not hurt him despite every instinct that told you do to otherwise. Because you were scared. Stefano himself…could get you out. Maybe, making the whole event more bearable at the slight hope that maybe he might free you one day when he grew bored. Lost on the streets of Union, still searching, hopelessly searching as you wandered aimlessly for some sign. Some clue, some way out when…you saw him.

Somebody alive in the midst of the hell-scape you both stood on.

A strange man.

Hope.


	4. Chapter 4

It would be too much to just approach him, not with the way you were. A nearly naked, mutilated shell containing something barely human inside and from what you could see he had a gun amongst an array of other potential death inducing weapons. Yet you couldn’t have been happier…he’d head into a nearby alley. The perfect opportunity for you to approach him: staggering after the man, the click of your heels obnoxiously loud as you tried to walk on your tiptoes. You sauntered along the damp street, enclosed between the walls and following on in his footsteps when a loud bang startled you – yelping as you jumped. Body lunging towards the wall for support as you almost shook. The gun. He was close by too. The joy you felt subsiding somewhat as your safety became more of a focus. Shears grating against the wall as you kept close to it, side stepping towards the corner where the man’s shadow danced behind you. There was a bin between you…a big one, peering around the wall to see him again. Breath caught as you tucked yourself away behind the bin. With a deep breath, you spoke.

“Hello.” His shadow noticeably tensed. “I know you’re there…please I-” You cut yourself off, staring at your shear like hands in disgust and fear but also with a newfound hope.

“I need you to help me.” 

“Where are you?” The gruff voice demanded respect and yet his tone was full of concern.

“You have to promise me you won’t hurt me!” You hastily called out. The man edging cautiously in the direction of your voice, glancing left and right beside the bins.

“I won’t hurt you, just tell me where you are.” 

“Here…” you rose steadily, the gun aimed at you momentarily as you startled the man but – his aim soon lowered as you hid behind the bin. Naked, afraid, cold…you’d never felt more embarrassed then when he’d rounded the bin, gaze immediately diverted but…soon back on you as you tried to hide your hands. It was impossible to hide the rest of the damage to your body though.

“How,” he began, shrugging off his coat and lending it to you, “how did this happen?” You shivered at the thought, head hung back towards the darkened sky.

“Stefano…” you muttered, the man’s eyes widening.

“Stefano!” He exclaimed – catching your interest.

“Do you know him?” The man nod.

“Sick son of a bitch has been trying to kill me, he’s taken my daughter – do you, know where she is?” Your heart sank at the thought, shaking your head only to see the anguish in his eyes. You muttered apology, but he dismissed it, beckoning for you to follow him as he began to make his way back down the alley. Names were exchanged and Sebastian began to question you on how you’d ended up hiding behind a bin the way you were, why you weren’t attacking him like the other monsters – that comment quickly retracted but it was too late. The word ‘monster’ piercing your heart better than any rose. You understood though. He didn’t need to know you…'worked' for the artist so to speak. You’d only told him he’d been the one to turn you into what you were…you wanted to get out, not be shot. Stefano still didn’t seem to be watching either…Sebastian keeping you both hidden from sight as you paroled the streets after your dumb comment that he didn’t have to worry about being attacked but – that was only you. That meant you could help him at least…you knew those deformed creatures, the humans infected with the disease that blistered their skin and drove them crazy. They weren’t art, they were pests – and although Stefano enjoyed playing with them you knew he wouldn’t object to you taking a few out. You’d tapped Sebastian gingerly with the sides of your blades as he readied his gun, one of them lurking in the centre of the street.

“Let me do it…” you soothed, Sebastain seemingly disapproving of it but you were quick to reassure him, “I don’t know if it’ll try to attack me when I do but I’ll make sure to kill it – just shot any that seem like they’re going to go for me okay?” 

“Okay.” He sighed. “Be careful.” You nod, rising from the bushes and striding out into the street with a nervous confidence, the monster as uneasy on her legs as you had once been when you’d had new ones sewn on – a knife held unnaturally tight in her grasp as she made some sort of guttural screeching sound. You hadn’t been scared until she’d turned. It wasn’t your first time seeing one but you forgot you were like them and…to see into its dead eyes – nothing but spite fuelling its actions. A spite it didn’t take out on you. An arm raised you managed to split the blades of the shears and positioned them either side of her neck. You didn’t even know if you had the strength to do it, positioning the other pair of shears against her chest. It wasn’t something you’d wanted to ever hear again, the sound of flesh being sliced – bone breaking, blood – you’d yelped as you’d thrust the blades into her chest. It wasn’t like you could feel anything through the shears, they were what they were – but the warmth of the blood as it spilled onto your bare flesh made you grimace. Her head fell to the floor with a thud. Like her body, leaving you stood there, shaking as you stared in horror at the blood soaked weapons where your hands were meant to be. Nothing coming to attack you it seemed…Sebastian soon joining you as you crouched down.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you hastily tried to get the crimson stained dress from the dead creature’s headless corpse.

“I need clothes.” You commented, asking him to help you. Soon happily in the dress, as happy as you could be: that was something Stefano would oppose to but, you had the perfect excuse. One that was true. Ushered along the street, you wiped the shears against your dress leaving four smeared ‘v’ marks…noticing the side glance Sebastian gave you and it made you feel as naked as ever. A seed planted in your mind. He…was watching you, keeping an eye on you because you…you were a monster too, you thought. Even if he apologised for calling you one it didn’t change a thing. There was still blood on your shears. Even if it was to help him – you bit your tongue. He was going to help you get out…he needed to find his daughter then – then you’d both find a way out together. It was silent, Sebastian asking if you were okay and catching you off guard.

“I’m fine yes…” you sighed, that familiar irritation washing over you when you saw it in the sky…the eye. He would know – he was watching your every move – Sebastian was. You were a precious piece of art to be protected and you were an enemy to be watched. It made your skin crawl.

“Where are we going?” You asked curiously as he came to a halt. He unhooked some sort of walkie-talkie from his belt and took it to hand, changing the frequency so that the static turned into an ear-piercing cry for help. Your whole body tensed at the sound, head tilt as you heard the blades of the shears cross over one another.

“I don’t know…” he sighed, “that psycho has me on a wild goose chase…” the crying turned to screams of agony – your irritation turning to anger. It drove you insane. Crying, screaming…as if the distrustful looks weren’t enough or the feeling of being watched…and when you weren’t you were worried sick that he was.

“(Y/N)?” Sebastian muttered.

“What!” You snapped, immediately apologising but, that didn’t change how you felt. 

“Can you turn that off sorry it’s…hard to listen to.” 

“I can’t (Y/N), I need to know where the signals coming from but…I understand.”   
His response was blunt, if he didn’t trust you before he definitely didn’t now. So you were stuck…listening to the sound of some woman’s screams as you head closer to source – the sound only getting louder and louder. Sebastian leading the way, back turned – Stefano watching you from above. Approaching a bar, Sebastian checked the signal again, the screaming…what little of your arms were still made of flesh went numb. Radio on his belt, Sebastain reached for the door, holding it open as he turned to face you…grip tightening on the door.

“(Y/N) are you okay?” You didn’t respond – no, you weren’t okay. Neither would he be if he didn’t get away from you, but that was the last thing on your mind. That animalistic impulse you felt taking over as the shears twitched and tried to cut at the air.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You asked, Sebastian frowning.

“Listen (Y/N), we don’t have time for thi-”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You repeated – louder this time, snappier.

“No I don’t!” He replied with as much antagonism…sighing as he glanced left and right down the street. “I don’t have time to waste either when I could be trying to find my daughter.” His answer didn’t calm you in the slightest. In fact it made things worse. Insisting he entered the building first. He did begrudgingly and you followed that obnoxious, irritating sound up some stairs until you found a photo frame. A model in a frame like you’d seen before, but now you knew it wasn’t just special effects as you felt the blades of your shears grind metal against metal. The photo portrayed a young ballerina in a black dress: her face covered and bound as her body was hung in what was meant to be a ‘graceful’ position…yet you could see just from the way she sort of hung, she was far from happy. If she was his art she wouldn’t be…she probably wasn’t even alive. A certain tenseness hitting your body as you watched Sebastian reach for a knife he carried with him.

“What are you doing?” You asked hesitantly, the man turning to face you with a questioning look himself.

“I’m going to destroy his art.” The tenseness that clung you only tightened like a spring. You were Stefano’s artwork…realising if he was going to destroy the art then…that meant yourself too…surely not – you tried to rationalise with yourself as Sebastian turned his attention back to the photo – about to stab it when you made the first move. He’d heard you coming thanks to the heels – dodging to the side as your shears sliced right through the photo…your eyes widening as Sebastian hopped back a few steps, knife sheathed as he favoured his gun.

“What are you doing (Y/N)?” He yelled, cold gaze eyeing you cautiously, like the monster you were. You didn’t respond to him though – you didn’t have to, you couldn’t…when you tried to attack him again, body on autopilot from the rage that spurred you on, you barely felt the pain from the adrenaline. Your body hit the floor hard…blood pooling around your chest and face as you tried to lift it to see Sebastian fleeing whilst he could…a bullet having pierced your shoulder. As you began to lose consciousness though, and the anger seeped out with the blood…you were almost content with the idea of death. Almost.

“Oh mio caro…and what do we have here?” You could only groan as you felt a warmth envelope you, unwilling body lift by a pair of hands from the cold floor. You could tell from the faint scent of lavender and the snippets of Italian you’d heard it was him…he’d come to collect you.

“Have you had fun running around with the detective?” He asked, unable to answer his question as he let out a sigh. “I would be angry with you but I can’t be mad at you il mio amore…he’s just another philistine who can’t understand beauty when he sees it. Even now he’s busy defiling my art.” It felt like someone was rubbing acid into the wound on your shoulder as you felt it sting for the first time. A groan all you could muster as you let yourself lean into the warmth of the artist as he took you back to his workshop where he’d fix you.

“You know (Y/N)…I know you just wanted to keep an eye on the stranger but you already do so much for me.” As he spoke you slowly formulated an idea in your head. Hope wasn’t dead just yet.

“I…want to help…” you muttered, glancing up at Stefano’s tender expression as he switched on the blinding light above you…he let out a hum as he slipped on a pair of slick, black gloves. What clothes you'd scavenged discarded.

“We’ll see (Y/N). For now let’s get you patched up shall we, then I’ll see what you can do to get rid of that monster.” You didn’t know if you were meant to go down with the world, or if there really was some way out for you – but you weren’t going to make the same mistake you did last time. You would control yourself. Repress your feelings and help Sebastian and find a way out somehow…even if you could only help him and his daughter…his daughter. Stefano had her. Somewhere…if only you could find her and watch over her…then you could curry your way back into Sebastian’s good books and strip Stefano of his power. His hand applied pressure to your shoulder as he looked down on you with adoration – leaning over you and pecking you on the forehead.

“Everything will be alright soon (Y/N)…then we can rule this world together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this story!
> 
> <3


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